The Book of Fiction

The first entry, the most important entry, tells the tale of a Girl and a Demon. It has been spread across the Bridge of Books, and even beyond onto the Realms of Light and Shadow. Copies have made it to the Mortal Realms though often only kept by scholars that scoff at the ideas presented in it. For what but a story of Fiction could be so fantastical, so obviously a lie, and yet be true. Here follows the story of that Girl and Demon.
The Master of Imagination
There are though times where the story of the Bridge becomes as important as any other major event. There on the Bridge came two forces, ones most unlikely indeed. A great and powerful demon from the Realm of Shadow, followed by an army a million strong. The demon intended to make their way to the Realm of Light so as to conquer and destroy as Demons are want to do. Village after village was burnt and sacked by the army of demons, they had beat the defenders of The Grand Library, though did not bother with such trivialities as taking spoils from such a place.
So they came to a village, barely bigger than just an inn and a few houses, where they were stopped by a young girl. She was but seven mortal years of age. The front of the Demon's army laughed as she stood on the bridge as if to block their way. She had a book in her hand as is often seen by those who live on the Bridge. The demons came and yet the found their way blocked. A wall appeared made out of the books that made up the Bridge. Scoffing the line started to hack their way through. It was but a temporary set back and one that had happened before and had not stopped the demons' advance. Yet as they came through the wall they were once again stopped. The bridge had grown between them and the girl. Again such things had happened before and the demons paid it little heed and kept marching forward. Again and again it seemed as if the world had turned against them. They fell as the gravity switched though by now they knew how to deal with such a problem and soon were back on their march. They struggled up a hill as steep as a man could stand, and yet they had rope and wings and such a thing was simple enough. Yet it seemed that the world would not end its attempts to stop them. Never before had the Bridge acted so hostile and with such frequency.
So it was when they were finally but three meters from the girl that they laughed. She hadn't moved the whole time except to shake her free hand which flapped with an urgency known only to those like her. A demon, one who liked to entertain his master with jokes and farces, yelled at the girl. He asked how her meat would taste. The horde laughed and the girl kept flapping her hand. Yet all of the demons were worn and the horn of rest had been blown. Sure there was food right in front of them but they felt no need to use up their entertainment. They could already see the villagers had fled or hid from them and one girls was hardly a meal for even one demon let alone a million and one. So the jester kept yelling his taunts doing his best to make the girl cry and scream. To get her to run, because what fun is there in chasing a stone.
Yet nothing made the girl move or even react to his words. She must have been daft they decided. It would be best that when they ate her, which they would, that she would pass so as to not suffer more. Even demons had some sense of compassion, or at least what they thought of compassion.
The great Demon walked through his troops. He liked to visit them all and it was not like he didn't have time. They had plenty of food still and the army would not move till he said so. He came to the front where he would say a speech and maybe if he was lucky find something of a sport. Something so his demons would find some solace in him. So he almost laughed when he saw the girl who flapped her hand even as she sat to rest as much as the demons were.
He addressed her and she showed him a picture in her book. It was of the sun with a smile. He snorted. Speak he commanded. Yet she only showed him another picture. Nothing he said got her to talk. Was she mute? He supposed it did not matter. Maybe if he could get her to run then he could chase. Such things were some sport if even it would be such an easy sport. Yet she didn't move when he shoved his spear tip first into her face. She did not move as he pressed the spear against her as hard as he could. She didn't yield and she did not bleed. No in fact she only showed him another picture in her book. How could such a child hold him back? Was the Realm playing with him?
No mater she would burn and yet she didn't. Nor did she freeze or fly away on a wind so strong it tore apart the bridge. His magic some how was negated or ignored each and every time. Growing frustrated he reached out to grab the girl and to his surprise she lifted into the air in his hand.
He stood three times her height, which was small for a demon not that any would hold such a feature against him. He laughed. Now she would scream. But she didn't . She flipped through her book as best she could while being held so high. A picture of an arrow pointing down. Then one of a pair of hands held close together. He scoffed. He was a demon. Such things were beneath him, and more importantly beyond his comprehension. What was friendship to a demon other than not killing the each other?
So he tossed her. And she did fly but the books came out to catch her and she seemed unharmed. Another, a woman, ran to the girl. She screamed in the tongue native to the pair. She tried to drag the girl away but the girl shook her head and showed the woman the picture of the hands. The Demon laughed. He strode forward till he could grab the girl once more yet the woman stood between them.
Now it must be said that children so often do not understand the evil that can fester in a heart. They often only see good even where danger lies. So it was with a surprise when the Demon ripped the woman asunder. The Demon laughed for it had only take his hand. Not his sword and not his strength, such was his power.
Finally the girl screamed. The blood splattered on her face. The demon laughed more. He had won this game. Now the girl would die as well. Yet he didn't notice in his mirth that the air that surrounded the Bridge had grown dark. Nor did he notice the sound of paper being flipped through with speed. He didn't see his doom in that moment only his victory. So it was that he didn't understand when he was lifted by the girl.
Her face was contorted by rage and pain and emotions that should have been familiar to such a demon yet only brought confusion to him. The army rushed forward. Only to find their way blocked by the most massive of teddy bears and the friends behind such a doll. It stood as tall as a behemoth and swung its fists plush as they were through the army. They were flung like dirt tossed by a toddler digging in sand. The others joined in this fight and soon the million fought six. Occupied they did not see what happened to their leader, to the Demon.
Paper wrapped around him in a hurricane of words. The girl she sat on the ground rocking and screaming an odd gurgling scream. He hurt from the thousand paper cuts that littered his body which healed each in an instant only to have it reopen again and again. Such pain though is not new to a Demon but what came next was. The words that ran on the paper. The words that came from books read to the young girl. They seeped into his cuts flowing from the paper to his blood and then his mind. He heard them all run through his head. He read them all and more importantly he saw all of what they meant.
At first new and strange sentiments flowed through him, ones that no demon had. But soon the grew so strong that he only knew of them. So much ran through his head that there wasn't anything else, for what is a drop of water in an ocean. So many words, so many visions, so many emotions. But eventually as comes to all things there was an end to this all. To his gift.
One more drop would not overflow the ocean. But it did alter him. He saw the girl as she was when she first remembered but not as one might see any other being but as one sees themselves. He saw her life. How vast it was and he wondered how in such a short time had so much happened. Soon he saw for in her head there was not just the Realm of Fiction but those beyond the Fiction. Those that did not exist out side of her head. He saw what she knew even if he could not see her Truth.
But he felt her pain. He knew how much she wished to trade all the storm for just the ability to be held with out screaming. With out hurting. Of how she wished the world would sleep sometimes so she would hear it every waking moment and even those not waking. That she heard the steps of mouse and the roar of boiling water and the clang of pans and the million other things that rattled around her. He needed them gone as well as the ate at his mind.
Many in the realms think that a soul is unchanging. That while one can be consumed that it can not escape its fate. Some say this is Truth. The great and glorious and burning Gods of the Light claim this as why the demons of Shadow must be eradicated. But again this is the realm of Fiction. For in that moment what is said to be impossible happened. The Demon was no more. No now there was a boy.
He stood tall for such a boy but much so smaller than he once had. He smiled at the girl for now he knew. He picked up a book from the ground and showed the pictures inside. It needed more but that was fine they would come when they were needed.
The army may never have been. The Demon most definitely no longer was but the Boy and the Girl sat on a bench. One shaking their leg and the other flapping their hand. A book sits in the Great Library that tells the story of Fiction. First among its many stories sits this one. History can not be said to exist on the Realm of Fiction though it can not be said to not. No one knows what happened to the Master of Imagination, nor her new friend. You may find her in a small village on the bridge, with a book in hand, waiting.

Purpose

The Book of Fiction is the most important of books in the Great Library. In it lies the supposed truth of the Realm of Fiction. Guarded by the Defenders of the Library, the Book has stayed in the Library for the last two thousand years. It seems to right it self and as one flips through it the pages never seem to end. The Librarian read from the book daily, his book mark never seeming to move when the book is closed but he keeps reading.

Type

Manuscript, Historical

Medium

Paper

Location

The Bridge of Books